


duets need two people

by dissatisfied starlight (facelesshellion)



Category: Gundam Wing, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Both the GW one and the HP one), Bisexual Character, Eventual Romance, Everyone gets to find themselves since they had no time to do it as kids, F/F, F/M, Gay Male Character, Identity Issues, It's a good thing Harry and Quatre are loaded, Lesbian Character, M/M, Post-War, Pretty much no one knows what to do as adults after they were child soldiers, Recovery, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-03-04 17:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facelesshellion/pseuds/dissatisfied%20starlight
Summary: No one talks about what to do after the war is over. Of course there's the easy stuff--Sleeping for a week, kissing your lover, eating a full meal--but long-term is a different story. When all they know how to do is fight, adjusting to peace is harder than any of them imagined it would be. During this process, Duo tries to reconnect with an old friend and inadvertently drags him into his friends' lives.It says something that the boy who grew up in a cupboard is the most well-adjusted of them all.





	1. Duo Introspects but Kind of Misses The Point

**Author's Note:**

> alright, first time writing and posting fic in a LONG time. didn't even think I remembered the password for this account tbh. i'm hoping this is a different take on a gundam wing/HP crossover, because this is actually my favorite crossover ever despite the unrealisticness of it and how much tweaking you have to do to both universes to make them somehow work together. honestly, i'm playing fast and loose with canon b/c it's been awhile since i read HP or even watched the movies, and it's been even longer since i watched GW seriously. 
> 
>  
> 
> anyways: hope you guys enjoy! let me know what works, what doesn't. like i said, it's been a LONG time since i've posted fic.

Solo was an ache that never went away. Underneath the many, many deaths that weighed on Duo’s shoulders like the world weighed on Atlas’s, the memory of Solo’s rattled breathing and glassy eyes clung tightly. In his (admittedly, few and far between) bouts of introspection, he can clinically note that Solo was the first person to care about him and subsequently the first person Duo ever lost. Regardless of how many deaths piled on afterwards, Solo’s was the first. 

Heero told him, once, that human memory is painfully unreliable. That the more people remember something, the more warped the memory gets. He went on about it for awhile until Duo forced another shot down his throat and dragged him to the dance floor. It was a weak defense for Heero’s unwillingness to reminisce with the rest of them, but Duo figured avoidance and repression were better coping skills than those that the rest of them have picked up. 

It stuck with him, though. Knowing that he can’t completely trust his own memories is a difficult pill to swallow. Knowing that he might not even accurately remember Father Maxwell’s, or Sister Helen’s, or Solo’s faces hurt. It’s not like he has any photos of them to check against. 

Duo Maxwell made himself who he is. He picked his name and every choice he’s made afterwards has also been, if nothing else, his. He thinks that, ignoring that some of the choices were spectacularly fucked ones to make, at least Sister Helen would be proud of him taking responsibility. He thinks Solo would’ve understood, and he might’ve even made some of the same decisions if he had the opportunity to. 

(He thinks that Solo never would’ve had a chance because it was already ridiculous to think that a street rat like Duo had somehow made it this far.) 

Duo doesn’t know exactly what day Solo had died, but he knows it was late summer. Everyone had been so cold even though temperatures had been through the roof, and shivering when everyone else was stripping off any extra layers had been the first symptom of that goddamned plague that wrecked their numbers so thoroughly. During the war, the seasons didn’t matter much since they were constantly traveling and hit every type of climate there was at some point. Keeping track of the date was less about the actual date and more about how much time was between it and whatever their next deadline was. Now, in the aftermath, Duo has a (semi-) regular schedule and actually notices when July rolls around. 

It’s an anniversary of sorts, even if he doesn’t have an exact date. For the first weeks of the month, he’s melancholic in a different way than the Maxwell Massacre’s anniversary brings out in him. That day is about sorrow and regret and the pain of losing so many innocent people in one blow. This melancholy is about lost potential. It’s about half-forgotten memories that still hurt when he thinks about them, and the realization that his friend had been so, so painfully young. 

While Duo had been in the war, he hadn’t realized how young he and his fellow pilots were. They were indestructible, the strongest people on the planet—but in hindsight, they were children who could’ve died at any moment. Hell, they were still in the midst of puberty while they were killing hundreds. He looks at fifteen-year-olds now and wants to be sick when he imagines them going through what he did. Admittedly, he’s not that much older now—At seventeen, he’s still young, but he’s now aware of it. 

(Not that that stopped him from joining up with the Preventers the minute they offered him a place.) 

He feels the same way when he sees a kid and imagines them caring for a tinier, needier, younger toddler. Solo had split his food with him, always, and Duo always complained and begged for more. He had carried Duo and kept him warm, gave him the cleanest and least worn clothes they had, smiled and hugged him, and even when Duo was a brat, Solo had taken it in stride. 

He doesn’t remember Solo ever being mad at him. He doesn’t remember Solo ever crying. He doesn’t remember if Solo talked about his life before the gang, or how he even got the gang together, or why he took care of Duo when he was clearly just a drain on their already taxed resources. 

He remembers that smile, though. No matter what Heero says about memories being faded and worn and messed up over time, Solo’s “everything’s fine, don’t worry” smile will always be there. He’s mimicked it himself so many times and can always tell that it’s a poor copy. 

Heero says, “You’ve been brooding.” 

Duo thinks brooding is a strong word. He’d argue that maybe he’s been focusing on Solo, and maybe it’s because Solo’s easier to focus on than the rest of his trauma. He can internally, sorta-kinda admit that he’s been obsessing, thinking more and more about Solo until he’s bursting with the need to talk to someone about him. It’s out of character for him—For as much as he refuses to lie, he doesn’t much care for talking about anything of importance.

Heero waits, and even though there’s no expectation in his statement, Duo eventually caves. 

“You know those things that just don’t leave ya? The pre-war shit, before we had gundams, the tiny things that just sorta. Made you who you are.” 

“Sure. I have my fair share of pre-war ‘shit.’” 

“How do you deal with it?” 

Heero takes a moment and thinks before he says, “I don’t.” 

“Helpful, man.” 

“What is it you need help with?” 

Duo blows out a slow breath and shrugs, a little helplessly. “I just. You’d think I’d be fixated on pretty much anything else, but I can’t get something outta my head. This—“ His throat closes up briefly, suddenly terrified to say it out loud. It passes fairly quickly, but Heero catches the pause and sits up straighter. “This kid had been. He was. Important. When I was little.” 

“How so?” 

“He was. Well. I was a street rat pretty much my entire life, like I don’t remember anything before that. Just like I don’t remember anything before Solo. He was the gang leader, but he was also my—I guess guardian? I dunno man, he took care of me. Even though I was a total pain and pretty much useless.” 

“Sounds like a good kid.” 

“He died,” Duo says. It’s almost unnecessary to say out loud, because neither of them have anyone from before the war. Not like Quatre, who has more sisters than anyone would know what to do with, or Trowa, who has Catherine and a random smattering of mercenaries. Or even Wufei, who has a weird clique with some intellectual types he had met that left for Earth before his colony was destroyed. “From this really, god-fuckin-awful plague. He was so sick and still taking care of the others who were sick. Almost everyone made it.” 

“Except for him.” 

Duo nods sharply. “Except for him.” 

Heero grabs Duo’s shoulder in a just-slightly-too-firm grip—Still so awkward at physical contact after these years, but he tries. “What do you need?” 

“Don’t worry about it—“ 

“Duo.” 

The thing about Heero is that, for all that he’s an emotionally stunted wreck, he’s absolutely the sincerest of all of them. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s struggling without a warfront like the rest of them do, and he never offers help out of obligation. Even Duo, for as much as he loves these guys, has occasionally ignored a phone call and pulled the “sorry, was busy, what can I do ya for?” card when he was feeling drained. Heero always picks up if it’s one of them, always drops what he’s doing and genuinely does his best to help them out. 

And Duo knew that, so he’s being a little bit of a manipulative shit. Because he knew Heero would offer, even if Duo couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

“I think it would help if I just. Did he even exist?” Duo asks, with a small laugh. “If there was even just one record of him, maybe if I could find out if he was another nameless street rat or if he actually had anyone—I don’t know. It’s a longshot.” 

Heero reaches behind him and grabs his laptop. Or, a laptop. Duo hasn’t figured out yet if Heero has one laptop that magically positions itself wherever he needs it to be or if he has a dozen scattered around his apartment, ready to be pulled out whenever he needs one. “Tell me what you remember. Names, significant dates, physical details—I’ll do what I can.” 

“I really don’t have much.” 

He gets an eye roll for that and a gesture to get on with it. 

Whether it’s a sign of how much he trusts Heero or how far he’s come in healing, talking about Solo is barely a fraction of how painful he thought it would be. 

“Well, he was small. We all were. He was probably around ten or so when he died, maybe eleven. Mixed descent, definitely. I think Indian, but I’m not exactly the most culturally aware guy so that’s a guess that could be offensively wrong.” 

Heero glances up from his screen when Duo trails off. “And?” he prompts. 

“Sorry, I just. I remembered he had this wild hair. Like, crazy curls. It always tickled my nose when we’d be hiding, no matter how often we tried to cut it short. He liked it longer because it covered some of his rougher scars. And he had really green eyes. Like Tro’s, kinda, but—“ 

“Green eyes?” Heero repeats. “That actually narrows it down a lot.” 

“What, seriously? Why?” 

“Without getting into an entire biology lecture, when we were young, there were pollutants on some of the different colonies. There’s controversy regarding whether these were intentionally placed by the government for experimental reasons or they were a byproduct of poor manufacturing practices. These chemicals were noticed after a few generations because of how it affected the genetics of children born on the colonies. 

“L2 in particular had a noteworthy teratogen that caused children born on the colony to be incapable of developing non-blue eyes. There’s obviously variation within that too—Your eyes, for instance, are more purple than any Earth-born blue-eyed individual would have, due to whatever was being pumped into L2’s atmosphere. I’m sure there were variations of gray and blue, and anyone who was born elsewhere but moved to L2 could, obviously, have non-blue eyes.” 

“So that means Solo wasn’t born on L2,” Duo says slowly. “And that means there’s a shuttle record somewhere.” 

“Possibly,” Heero says. “If he traveled legally, it should be fairly easy to find. I’ll check the records from five years before you were born to the year he died.” 

Something that has, and likely always will be, an unspoken agreement between them is how little they care for laws. Chang became a goodie-two-shoes the minute the war was over to the surprise of absolutely no one, and Quatre feels that the best way for people to gain confidence in the new system is to follow it himself. Trowa does what Quatre does because he’s a moron in love, or else he’d probably be on the same side of the fence as Duo and Heero are. Heero’s blatant disregard for rules and the like is mostly due to them never having applied to him and the ease in avoiding any consequences associated with breaking them. 

Duo thinks that as long as they aren’t killing anyone anymore, they did more than enough to earn some free passes. Heero sneaking into databases he technically doesn’t have clearance for won’t hurt anyone, really. 

He ends up passing out somewhere along the way when it becomes clear Heero doesn’t need anything else from him. He used to at least be able to keep up with Heero’s hacking, even if he couldn’t replicate it. Since the war, Heero’s skills have grown way past the little bit his doctor had taught him to complete his missions. 

Duo really wouldn’t be surprised if Heero had dirt on every politician on Earth. He’s still as weirdly protective of Relena as ever, and if it hadn’t been for years of nothing happening between them, he’d say that Heero was still as much of a moron in love as Trowa is. 

(The difference between them being: Relena clearly has approached Heero and been rejected at least twice, whereas Trowa won’t admit he’s not as straight as he wants to be and refuses to take a step more towards Quatre.) 

 

He thinks he gets a few hours of sleep, head uncomfortably tilted back and arms tucked across his chest, before Heero nudges him awake. He misses the days when that would be enough sleep, when he could keep going for days before he’d need to rest again. He feels like he spends half his life asleep, wasting time that could be better spent doing, literally, anything else. 

Heero gives him a minute to stretch and wake up, which is uncharacteristic. His laptop is also closed, and Duo tries not to be disappointed. He turns to him, gives a small smile, and says, “Hey, it’s cool if you didn’t find anything, I wasn’t expecting much, I just—“ 

“No, that’s. I found something. I’m just. Not sure how to tell you.” 

“Just let me look, that way—“ 

“No,” He says firmly. “No, you don’t want to see it. I’ll tell you. It’s better this way.” 

A shiver rolls up his spine. “That bad?” 

Heero doesn’t answer right away. He scrubs a hand over his face and tonelessly states, “Solo was brought to L2 by his maternal aunt when he was five. She and her husband had gained custody of him after his parents were killed—Cause of death unknown, but considering they mysteriously dropped dead simultaneously, it was assumed to be murder. Perpetrator unknown. 

“His aunt only bought one ticket for the shuttle back, which departed approximately two days after their original arrival.” 

“So he was dumped there, big whoop. That’s not exactly unexpected—“ 

“The name his original ticket had been under was Harry James Potter.”

“Original—” 

“In July of AC 187, there was a ticket bought for Harry James Potter to return to Earth. He was checked into a hospital upon arrival and remained there for two months. After that, he is on record as having went to boarding school until he was sixteen, after which he disappeared until he turned eighteen. 

“There are reports of child abuse and neglect accusations, even from before his time on L2, though all were investigated and dismissed despite some damning photos from his medical files.” 

Heero pauses and hesitantly takes Duo’s hand, holding it tight. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until Heero did that. “Obviously, none of this is certain. Records can be faked. There are photos that appear to be unaltered, but they are unpleasant.” 

“Unpleasant?” He chokes out. 

“The only ones I could find were from him stepping out of the original shuttle and those from his medical records. There weren’t any children other than Potter that fit the profile you gave me, but again, if he somehow got to L2 through illegal means, that likely wouldn’t be recorded anywhere. So it might not be Solo.” 

“You don’t buy that.” 

“No,” Heero admits. “It’s difficult to get to the colonies undetected unless you take a single-seat shuttle, and it’s extremely unlikely that a child as young as Solo could pilot one and somehow remain unnoticed.

“If we want to be sure, though, you need to look at the photos. Or, at least the one from the shuttle. The medical ones—“ 

“Show me.” 

There’s more hesitation, but Heero eventually opens his laptop and turns the screen for Duo to see. 

The photo is pretty good quality, he thinks. He can make out the spidery scar that crawled across his entire forehead and just slightly past his eyebrows. The green eyes are there, and the curls. He’s so much smaller than Duo remembers, because as campy and ridiculous as it sounds, Solo always seemed like he was ten feet tall. He was so strong. 

But this is a child. Who looks scared, who has a dark black eye, who is cowering as a woman drags him out by his small wrist.

Heero’s eyes are wide and he pushes the laptop away suddenly, shoves Duo’s head between his legs and starts talking meaningless nonsense trying to calm him down. Duo hadn’t even realized he wasn’t calm until he tried to take a breath and couldn’t. He manages to gasp a, “That’s him, it’s him, fuck, it’s him.” 

“Okay, we’ll deal with it. We’ll deal with it, Duo. It’ll be okay.” 

 

He demands to see the other photos the minute he calms down. Heero refuses. Duo demands again, and Heero says, “One panic attack is enough for the day, I think.” 

“It might not be the same person who left,” Duo argues. “It could be someone else who just took his name and slotted in. Like Trowa.” 

“It’s the same person,” Heero says. “The scar on his forehead is the same.” 

“Not knowing is stressing me out more than knowing will.” 

“I’m not saying I’ll never show you, but I think we should call it a night.” 

It goes on, way past what Duo means for it to. He recognizes that Heero is making the right call. He knows if Heero is saying he can’t handle it right now, that he can’t. It feels like he should fight it though, that he should try to take control over a situation that has gone so FUBAR Duo doesn’t have a clue what to do. 

He was hoping to find out who Solo’s parents were. See if they were still around, see if they had other family. He wanted to righteously hate them for abandoning Solo, get blackout drunk and curse their name, and then hopefully move on past this fixation. Let Solo rest, at last. That should have been the end of this adventure. 

Instead, he now knows that Solo is out there. He wonders what he thinks of post-war life. 

Heero finally locks his laptop down and declares that he’s going to bed. 

“If you want to stay the night, you know where everything is.” 

Duo snickers. “The new apartment feel’s gone then, eh? You used to want to play host anytime I showed up.” 

Heero’s lip twitches up. “The downside to being a good host is that people keep coming back.” 

“Is that a hint?” 

“Of course not,” Heero quickly reassures. “You’re always welcome. You just don’t get the five-star treatment after I already gave you five-star work.” 

Duo stands up and crosses the room to drag Heero into a tight hug. Heero is still not great at that, either, but he doesn’t shake him off. “I owe you, man. You’re the best and I—“ He cuts himself off and finishes with, “Thanks.” 

Heero nods and, surprisingly, doesn’t step out of the hug. Duo squeezes him one last time, but before he can pull back, Heero suddenly wraps his own arms around him. 

“Can you do something for me in return?” 

Duo’s brow furrows, but he nods. “Anything. Whatcha need?” 

“Can you stop calling me ‘man’? I hate it.” 

Duo knows better than anyone that anything can be a trigger, or at the very least be uncomfortable under the weight of associated memories. He still remembers the meltdown Quatre had when he smelled the perfume Hilde left behind at the scrapyard once. There was also the time when Trowa nearly punched him for getting him a game system for his birthday a few years back, which wasn’t half as bad as the time Chang started crying and locked himself in the bathroom when the movie they were watching had a wedding. 

It was only a matter of time before one of Heero’s popped up. He wants to ask, just like he wants to know about everyone else’s, but this isn’t an asking thing. This is a “if they want to talk about it, they’ll bring it up” thing. 

“No problem, buddy. Whatever you need.” 

They squeeze each other tight for a moment longer before Heero hurriedly pulls away and hides himself in his room. 

Sometimes, Duo wishes they could be right for each other. With just another ounce of compatibility, they could be perfect. He thinks he could make Heero deliriously happy if things were just slightly different. If he had stumbled across the idiot before Relena, if he was less abrasive, if Heero was a little more self-aware, if they both could be better with talking about feelings—

He thinks they’re damn great already, but sometimes it hurts to know this is how far it’ll go—With Duo on the couch and both miserably single, reaching for some kind of connection and just not finding it in each other. He thinks they could’ve been fantastic. 

He wonders if Solo has anyone. He had been strong and kind, and if his memories and the one photo he saw are any indication, he probably grew up beautiful. Solo deserves someone nice, Duo thinks. 

He falls asleep pretty easily despite his swirling thoughts. A remnant from the war, where sleep was precious enough that not being able to drop off wasn’t an option. No matter how nervous or frightened, Duo’s always been able to catch a few hours. 

He wonders if Solo has nightmares about L2 like Duo does, or if he also makes sure not to sleep long enough to let them happen.


	2. In which Harry answers the phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Duo talk about nothing much at all and Harry prepares to go into space.

Harry’s known, of course. He saw the broadcast calling for Duo Maxwell’s execution and recognized those eyes immediately. 

If he had had any emotional energy to spare at the time, he would have been afraid for him. He would have been amazed that Duo had made it so far and he would have been pouring over the news, trying to find out how to help him escape. 

Horcrux hunting, though, took that capacity away. Looking back on those long months, of running and hiding and fighting and surviving and seemingly endless despair, he doesn’t know how he, Hermione, and Ron didn’t just lie down and die. It took all three of them to carry the weight of only a part of Tom Riddle’s soul, and even then, they weren’t really enough. If they had waited a week longer to destroy the locket, Harry thinks they would have had a much less happy ending. 

He can’t remember how he pushed through the hopelessness and pain up to the end, how he handled the visions of Riddle’s life and the cruelty he doled out throughout it. He must have had a mantra, or something that he clung to, but he can’t remember. 

He knows that the first thought he had when he found out Duo Maxwell had survived was, “Well, for now, at least.” Before he went back to dodging sickly green lights. It was his turn to try to survive. He never thought about contacting him, assuming that Duo would already be dead via the muggle war or that Harry, himself, would be dead. 

He knows that Duo Maxwell is his little buddy from L2, and when he thinks back on his time on L2, he misses him. 

Harry kind of forgets, though. 

Hermione, surprisingly, has never called Harry out on it, but he’s forgetful. Not the normal, “Ah, I left my wand tucked behind my ear, silly me,” type of forgetful either. It’s the kind of forgetful where his godfather gave him a present that had clearly been important and he didn’t open it until said godfather was dead. It’s the kind of forgetful that has him startling in the middle of the night a year after the final battle and remembering that the man he looked up to so dearly raised him to die. 

It’s the type of forgetfulness that certainly didn’t help his grades, which is why he’s surprised Hermione’s never brought it up. Ron, though, acts exactly as expected and thinks it’s hysterical when he forgets to come to Sunday dinner and Molly drags him by his ear through the Floo, no matter what state he’s in. He’s had family dinner in pajamas, paint-stained jeans, and on one memorable occasion, a pair of swim trunks. Even George had laughed that night. 

At least his forgetfulness generally doesn’t annoy anyone except himself. 

He thinks he’s forgotten something when his phone rings. Considering the only muggles he knows are the Dursley’s, he rather expected that purchase to be an utter waste and tries to remember who he gave his number out to. Hermione insisted on him buying it, though, and with him venturing more into the muggle side of the world, it made sense. 

He uses his laptop much more than the phone. Being able to look up anything without having to bother Hermione or to try to figure out a library is amazing. All the dumb questions he’s had for years he can ask without anyone knowing, without Hermione’s pity. 

The online courses are also wonderful. He can go at his own pace and take as long as he needs to read something without worrying about a professor calling on him during class. He submits assignments when they’re actually complete, rather than trying to have something ready for a deadline. It’s simple work since he’s getting caught up from missing nearly a decade of muggle schooling, but it’s enjoyable and stress-free. 

The phone call, though, is not enjoyable and stress-free. He doesn’t remember giving the number out to anyone other than Hermione, who would just send him a Patronus, and his doctor’s office, who has never called him. The phone call is completely unexpected, and he feels nervous, wondering how a stranger got his number when he doesn’t remember listing it anywhere. When he picks up, no one is there. He says, “Hello?” a few times before hanging up. 

He waits a few minutes thanks to a gut feeling, and they call back. He picks up after the third ring. 

“Hello?” He repeats. 

“Hi. Um. Sorry, is this Harry Potter?” 

“Yeah, uh. Who is this?” 

“Sorry, I know this is gonna be kinda outta nowhere, but...” 

Harry waits and leans against his counter. He prompts, “But?” 

“I’m uh. I’m Duo Maxwell, and I—“ 

Harry abruptly remembers that newscast. The one calling for blood, with the gaunt face of a terrorist plastered across every screen for a week, broadcast while Harry could barely keep himself together long enough to evade the Malfoys for what felt like the five hundredth time. 

“I dunno if you remember or nah, but I was the brat that ate all of your food and cried all the time—“ 

“You didn’t cry all the time,” Harry says, a little blankly. “And to be fair, even if you did, it wasn’t exactly uncalled for. L2 was pretty awful.” 

There’s a long pause on the other end. 

“I. Wow, bud,” Harry says, bewildered. “I don’t even know where to start. Asking how you’ve been seems kind of stupid.” 

“I thought you were dead—We all did. Jesus, Solo—“ Harry hears his voice break, and he feels horrendous. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I would’ve stayed if I could. I was picked up by a friend of my parents, who took me back to my aunt’s, and then everything just spiraled.” 

“I thought you were dead,” He repeats. “I named myself Duo because you were Solo and I wanted to carry you with me, and all this time, you’ve been alive.” 

Harry says, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, there have been plenty of people trying to make me not-alive. So really, it was a fifty-fifty chance whether you would’ve found me alive after all this time.” 

“Ya know, that doesn’t help.” 

“No?” 

“Not even a bit.” 

“Darn.” 

Duo suddenly bursts out laughing. “Did you just say ‘darn’?” 

Harry feels his face heat up, and he retorts, “Oi, lay off. If you’d gotten a frying pan to the face when you swore, you’d be saying ‘darn’ and ‘fiddlesticks’ too I bet.” 

When Duo doesn’t say anything for awhile, Harry thinks that might have been too much information. He still struggles to know what parts of his childhood are palatable for normal company. It’s even worse when he can’t talk about his time at Hogwarts, which held most of his happiest memories. The lack of anything to talk about is why his friendships with muggles generally fail before they even begin. 

Duo finally says, “I take it you weren’t livin’ it up when you were dragged off of L2 then?” 

Harry almost lies. He thinks it would make Duo feel better, just like it makes Ron feel better to pretend the Dursleys don’t exist. In all honesty, compared to the worst times he had at Hogwarts and after, the Dursleys feel so small. The hurts they caused feel far away, and Harry mostly pities them. They were so scared, all the time. It wasn’t fair to him, but it also wasn’t fair to them. He, honestly, has mostly forgiven them, so telling other people about what they did to him doesn’t help anyone. 

Duo’s always been tough, so Harry decides to lie would be pointless. He absently scrubs the back of his right hand against his pants, feels the raised lettering that has never fully healed, and says, “I ate better on the streets, bud. You tell me.” 

A strangled noise is his immediate answer, followed by, “Give me the word and I’ll end ‘em.” 

He laughs and shakes his head fondly. “You’re the same protective anklebiter. You used to go for the eyes if anyone tried to cross me.” 

“I wasn’t /that/ bad,” Duo protests. 

“You were! I used to take you on the worst jobs because you were downright vicious and you had those big, darling blue eyes. No one ever thought you’d be a biter.” 

“’Darling’? I don’t think that’s ever applied to any part of me. I was a snot-nosed brat—“ 

“Don’t say that,” Harry cuts him off. “You were very darling when you wanted to be. I could make you fall asleep just by letting you curl up on my chest. And when I fell asleep before you, I’d always wake up with braids in my hair. It was very, very cute.” 

“Shut up, that’s. How long did you even take care of me for, Solo?” He asks abruptly. “You’re my earliest memories, ya know. And I mean, you were just a kid too.” 

Harry taps a finger against the counter a few times as he counts the years. “Well, Aunt Petunia dumped me on L2 when I was five. I think I got things settled, got the young kids who were hanging around to organize and work together for about a year before you popped up. You must’ve been three or four, I think. You were old enough to walk and talk a bit. You were civilized enough that someone must’ve watched out for you before you found me. It was maybe four or five years later when the plague started and got me, and when Albus came and got me.” 

After a short pause, Duo asks, “Why’d you take care of me? I couldn’t do anything, I just. I ate half of your food for pretty much all of those years. What was the point of it?” 

Harry briefly considers lying again. “It was the right thing to do,” He starts slowly. His arms are tucked close to his chest, now, feeling oddly vulnerable. 

No one alive in the magical world knows about his time on L2, meaning it’s been at least a decade since he’s thought about it. He and Dumbledore didn’t exactly have a heart-to-heart about his aunt abandoning him and Dumbledore placing him back with her despite it. And while he doesn’t regret what he did to help his kids survive, he isn’t necessarily proud of it. He wouldn’t talk about it to Hermione or Ron when they already shy away from what the Dursleys did to him. 

This conversation feels surreal and has him unbalanced, but Duo was one of his, no matter how long it’s been. He wants to hang up and run away, but Duo deserves better. His pride as a Gryffindor would never allow a retreat, either. 

“I picked you up at first because I knew how it felt to be cold and unwanted and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody,” Harry explains carefully. “The other kids weren’t thrilled. You were younger than any of us and pretty much completely dependent for the first year. Kids abandoned as young as you didn’t really make it. We uh—“ he swallows thickly and pushes on. “You were the first one we had seen alive. For me, you were a type of hope. 

“And then I started to like you. You were my little buddy,” He says quietly. “You were my shadow from day one. I would’ve—I’m just. I was so happy that you didn’t get sick, because with how close you stayed by me, it was near impossible to imagine that you hadn’t gotten more than a few germs. I remember being so happy that somehow I hadn’t infected you.” 

“You didn’t let me hug you. I was so pissed, but up until the very end, you were trying to keep me safe.” 

Harry is suddenly, viscerally uncomfortable with the conversation. He curls in on himself tighter and asks, “How did you find me, anyways? If you thought I was dead, why were you even looking?” 

“Closure? I dunno, man. I guess I just wanted to know if you even existed or if I made you up. I had a friend who’s good at finding information and he worked his magic.” 

“Is this. I mean.” 

“What?” 

“Is this it? Was this the closure you were looking for?” He listens to the silent on the other end for a moment before adding, “I’m not expecting anything, not after I abandoned you. Not when you have your own life now.” 

“Solo, jesus, you didn’t abandon me! You were just a kid too, I can’t—“ Duo cuts himself off and Harry tries to ignore how tight his chest feels. “Look, I don’t know what I was expecting when I called, but I don’t want this to be all there is. I have no idea what your life looks like, no idea if I fit into it anywhere, but I’m not losing you again after I just found you.” 

Harry says, “I have a flat in London. On Earth, I mean. I’m unemployed and taking classes right now. You'll fit. I have plenty of space." He pauses and adds, "We should meet up. I think it'd be good for us. Would it be easier for me to visit you?” 

“I can get time off of work, it doesn’t really matter.“ 

“I’ll visit then,” He says firmly. “I have literally no responsibilities right now that can’t be finished with a computer. And I’ve been looking to travel anyway.” 

Sorting out the details is easy. Duo says he’ll be in L4 for the next month or so on a job for the security firm he works for. Harry’s already booking his shuttle ticket for a flight two weeks from now, phone held by his shoulder as he slowly types. After about a year of use, he’s still painfully uncertain with technology, but he keeps trying. Hermione has worked so hard to integrate muggle technology and magic, and she’s thrilled that Harry is diving in (almost) as enthusiastically as she is. He’d do a lot more to keep her happy. 

It’s hard to say goodbye, even as Harry recognizes that they have nothing else to talk about at that moment. The important stuff should wait until they see each other, and that's all that's left, really. 

The entire phone call has felt unreal, and if he didn’t have so much experience distinguishing dreams from reality, he would think it hadn’t happened. 

“I guess I’ll see you in two weeks,” Harry says at last. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Solo. I’ll see you.” 

Neither of them hang up right away. There’s a breath, then two, and one more before the line goes dead. 

 

Ron freaks the minute Harry brings up going to a colony. 

“Harry, it’s a rock in space! You can’t—Hermione says there’s no air up there!” 

Harry tries very hard not to be smug that, for as dumb as he can be, he isn’t as much of a moron about muggle things as Ron is. Hermione sighs and says, “It’s not a rock, Ron. It’s like a small planet—“ 

“With no air!” 

“Of course there’s air, how else do you think people live there?” Harry interjects. 

“Why can’t your friend meet you here? On solid ground? Like normal people do?” 

“There’s more muggles on the colonies than there are on Earth, so it depends on your definition of normal, Ronald.” 

Ron lets out an explosive sigh at that while Harry grins. “I’ll be fine, Ron. Don’t worry so much.” 

“I wouldn’t have to worry so much if you would follow the plans we set out when we were stupid thirteen-year-olds. Then we’d be aurors together and I could watch your back and nothing would go wrong.” He pauses and adds, “Ever.” 

“Tragically—“ 

“Tragically, you’re a prat,” Ron concludes. “An unemployed, lazy prat who had a free-bloody-ride to being an auror and turned it down. Really, Harry, what will the Daily Prophet subscribers read about now? You being a hermit has deprived them of their entertainment. And me of having a competent partner.” 

Harry shoves him and laughs. 

“How long are you going to be off-planet then?” Hermione asks, dragging them both back to the original conversation. “A week?” 

He stretches his arms back behind his head and hums. “Probably about that, I’m not sure yet. I haven’t seen Duo since before Hogwarts, so we have a lot to get caught up on.” 

“I think it’s nice you’re reconnecting. It’s funny that this is the first we’re hearing about him, though,” She says. It’s accusing and much less subtle than she normally is. 

He shrugs, uncomfortable and not hiding it. “He never came up.” 

Ron elbows Hermione, as if Harry can’t see it, and he can see when she decides to let it go. She and Ron have been doing that a lot more lately than ever before. “Please be careful, then. If you haven’t seen him in so long, well. With all of the war, you never know who was on what side or who thinks what.” 

“Real optimistic, ‘Mione,” Ron says dryly. 

She puffs up, face twisting in irritation, and Harry tunes out for that argument. 

The timing of his visit is a blessing in disguise. Hermione and Ron, dear friends though they are, have been smothering him in an attempt to assure him that, regardless of the change in their relationship, Harry is still very important to them. The sentiment is appreciated even if the execution is more zealous than he would like. 

Ron thinks that Harry had been carrying a torch for Hermione since the year of horcrux hunting and has carefully not said a word about that theory. Harry only knows because he overheard him talking to Ginny about it. Ginny, being the great mate that she is, said that Ron’s an idiot and he should figure out his own emotions before looking at anyone else’s. 

Hermione, similarly, thinks that Harry had this beautiful, unrequited love for Ron that forced him to realize his sexuality. He knows this because she tried to talk to him about it once and brought pamphlets. Harry, kindly, told her to mind her own business because he is perfectly comfortable with his bisexuality, thank you. He also didn’t mention that Ginny had her beat by a few years. 

Due to these beliefs, they both are trying very hard to make sure he feels loved and cared for. But not so loved and cared for that he would try to draw the other partner away. Harry would like to politely inform them that they have nothing to worry about because he was actually in love with both of them and is mostly just deliriously thrilled they are alive and happy with each other. 

That confession would inevitably make their already strange, smothering behavior even more strange and smothering, so he doesn’t bring it up. He wants his two favorite people to be happy, and telling them about his feelings would only unnecessarily burden them. Besides which, Harry can recognize that he would just mess the whole thing up. Hermione and Ron work well together, and if he were to try to pursue them romantically, they would spend so much time worrying about him that they would never be happy themselves. 

His silence is for the best, he decides. Even if he has to deal with their near-constant worry for the indefinite future. 

Traveling will be a good chance to give them some space away from him. They can work on their relationship instead of stopping by Harry’s every other day to try to talk him into rejoining society. Though he believes he’s doing the right thing in taking time to heal, since he’s taking longer to figure out things than they did, they push and prod. He understands, even as it frustrates him. It’s the same way Hermione always was with schoolwork—If he didn’t finish an assignment on time, it was because he was being lazy rather than any shortcomings in his intelligence or abilities. Which was always, in some ways, flattering and hurtful in equal turns. 

“Are you going to stop arguing and take me out for my farewell dinner, or is this the rest of the night? Because I’ll go grab snacks, if it’s the latter.” 

He laughs when they both turn to glare at him. 

“Honestly, Harry, you should really be more concerned. You haven’t seen him for nearly a decade!“ 

“Yeah, I’m actually with ‘Mione on this,” Ron says. “The muggle world’s barmy as hell, you have no idea if he’s a lunatic or not.” 

“He was a good kid, guys. I have no doubt he’s grown into a good man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really just wanted to get this portion out of the way because I want to get to the fun stuff, so i hope that doesn't come across in the quality of this chapter. I tried my best to not be impatient with it, but I'm also the #worst. I struggled to have Duo and Harry talk semi-realistically when they don't really know each other any more but want to try again, but I think I lost their voices a bit. Ah well! 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, any feedback is appreciated and i hope you guys enjoyed it!


	3. Trouble finds Harry. Constantly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo goes to pick Solo up from the shuttle station. It goes better than Harry's last travel plans did, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i FINALLY got some motivation to write this chapter. i'm sorry it took so long--i started this on a whim and posted it before realizing i didn't really know where to go from chapter 2. i have plans for the long-term of this fic, but not for how to get there. if that makes sense? anyway i'm not thrilled with this chapter but at least it's out and i can get onto the fun stuff now! 
> 
> in other news: thanks for your patience! thank you for the kudos and the comments--they make my day so much brighter when i see them <3 i make no promises for updating consistently, but i'll try to give this fic a little more love than it's been getting. (that being said: BIG life changes are ahead because i'm graduating, so.... yeah. no promises lol)

Duo is antsy the entire day. Solo’s shuttle isn’t due until the evening, so he can’t justify skiving off work. Heero would kill him for leaving even if it was early enough to justify it. Having his best friend as his partner wasn’t his best idea. Not because of the best friend part—he wouldn’t trust anyone else at his back—but because of the fact that his best friend is significantly more responsible than Duo is yet holds Duo to the same standards. 

The Preventers are lax when it comes to the two of them, and if Heero let him, he could easily go through a couple handfuls of missions before anyone would hound him for a report. Hell, he could leave early every day and as long as he kept his mission success rate up no one would say anything. They already jump around the various bases and departments to keep things interesting and no one’s tried to tie them down to a single section. The gundam pilots are too valuable to not cater to, and no one wants to risk them going rogue. 

Heero, the duty-driven bastard, refuses to take advantage of this and has done everything short of dragging him in by his braid to get him to work. He claims that his partner’s productivity and abilities reflect on his own, therefore, he has every right to expect a modicum of dedication from Duo. Duo tries not to be too much of a brat about it, especially because somedays he needs the extra push of Heero’s standards just to get him out of bed. 

Today he had sprung awake, though. The past few weeks were a blur, and sometimes he could even forget why he was so anxious for time to pass. Today was the day, though. He keeps checking the shuttle’s progress in between information gathering for his and Heero’s next mission, making sure that it’s on track to arrive on time. He already had it set up so the travel site would send him a notification if there are any delays or cancellations, but he still finds himself checking every twenty minutes. 

Space travel is, ultimately, safe. They’ve come far enough with the technology that without outside interference or sabotage, traveling between the colonies and Earth is as safe as any bus or plane. That is to say, the shuttle is not as safe as Duo would prefer when it’s carrying precious cargo, nor is it as safe as it would be if Duo were piloting, but the chances are very slim that Solo will arrive in less than one piece. 

He’s about ten minutes away from when he can reasonably leave for the shuttle station when someone calls out to him. 

“Maxwell! Damn it, turn around, you idi—“ 

“Is that my Wuffers?” Duo asks gleefully, spinning around. “What’re you doing on L4? Come to visit lil’ ol’ me?” 

There’s some quiet huffing and prayers for patience before Chang gets close enough to give him a good head thump. “I’m here on business. It’s just my luck that you’re here at the same time.” 

“You staying at Quat’s too?” 

“When the choice is between paying for an overpriced, poorly secured hotel and forced social interaction with you—“ 

“Aw, you’re too sweet—“ 

“If there had been any hotel rooms available. Any at all. Understand that I would’ve emptied my bank account for a hovel before choosing to room with you.” 

Duo can’t help it, has to jump over and hug him tightly. As he complains and tries to wriggle out, Duo says, “You’re too damn cute, Wuffers. C’mon, I have to go pick something up and then we can go bug Quat.” 

“I have better things to do than run errands with you!” 

He doesn’t try to struggle out of Duo’s grip, though, so clearly he doesn’t. Duo carefully avoids Heero’s section of the office so he can get away with leaving just a bit early. Heero would be petty enough to make Duo stay an extra ten minutes if he knew. 

The station is close enough for them to walk, and Duo spends it prodding Wufei about his “business.” 

Wufei, as usual, says nothing of actual importance. He has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies—He has a few personal projects related to his attempts to document the culture and traditions of his clan, which keeps him in contact with friends of friends of deceased family members. Then he’s also volunteering on L5 when possible, using his Gundam pilot fame to raise money for reconstruction efforts. This is all independent of his actual work with the Preventers, of course, which is as vague and undefined as what Heero and Duo do, but in a different way. 

Heero and Duo are, normally, general field agents. They’re glorified body guards some days, glorified police officers some others, and on the rest they’re either writing reports or taking the missions that need a more experienced hand but aren’t quite black-ops rated yet. Heero had a strict, “I don’t want to kill anyone else” policy after the war, which made this the perfect job for him. He needed a break from serious work, but he’d be too bored doing anything else. Duo, on the other hand, joined up because he didn’t know what else to do and at least this gig would keep him close to one of his friends. 

Wufei had scoffed at the idea of taking a break after the war and dove headfirst into his side projects as well as the more classified end of the Preventers. The Preventers are already a hush-hush-secret organization, but the upper levels that Heero and Duo are involved in look like a blinking neon sign compared to how deeply the lower levels are buried. Wufei, a nerd and rule-abider until the end, takes it seriously enough that Duo doesn’t know anything about what he does. He keeps his mouth shut like a good little killer agent. 

Well, Duo wouldn’t know anything about it if Heero wasn’t so good with computers. He keeps an eye on all of the ex-pilots and gives Duo updates when he thinks it’s necessary. 

Doesn’t stop Duo from being a little bitter that the pilots don’t keep in contact better, which is maybe why he isn’t saying anything about what, exactly, the errand they’re running is. It’s petty—as petty as some of the shit Heero pulls, and worse because Wufei probably won’t even notice—but it has to be done. 

“How are the others doing?” Wufei finally asks. “Last I heard, Winner was being his normal, perfect self and succeeding in every possible way. Excepting his love life.” 

“Yeah, that’s still as messy as ever,” Duo says, grimacing. He sighs loudly and shrugs. “What can ya do? Tro’s stubborn as a mule. If he isn’t ready to paint himself rainbow, then he isn’t. Starting to feel pretty bad for Quat though.” 

“It’s ridiculous. Winner would be better off pursuing anybody else. If Barton’s going to be a fool, that’s his problem. Winner’s almost as a foolish for waiting on him to get his act together.” 

“The heart wants what it wants, baby. Look at Relena—She still holds out hope that Heero will give her a chance. Everyone’s a little stupid when it comes to romance.” 

Wufei grunts, clearly displeased. 

“Anyway, Quat’s generally the same. Doing business-y things, doing them well as far as I can tell, keeping himself busy. Tro’s over all the time, but when he isn’t making doe-eyes at Quat, he’s working construction.” 

“Construction,” Wufei says, with the same distaste he generally says Duo’s name. “An ex-Gundam pilot wasting his abilities—“ 

“Hey, lighten up,” Duo interrupts quickly. “We all did more than enough during the war to deserve to spend the rest of our lives baking cupcakes or knitting sweaters if that’s what we want to do. Tro likes what he does, and it gets him out of bed in the morning. That’s not half bad for an ex-child soldier.” 

Wufei, predictably, scoffs. 

Duo complains, “You’re so damn pretentious. Not everyone’s trying to save the world for—what, the tenth time?” He sighs loudly. “Well, at least we’re here. C’mon, we shouldn’t have to wait long.” 

“What are we doing at a shuttle station? I just came from here and you brought me back. Maxwell, I swear—“ 

“I’m picking up a friend!” He says defensively. “Jeez, you’re not so pretentious that I’d try to send you back before you even really visited.” 

“What friend? The pilots are accounted for.” 

“I do have a life, you know, and I don’t appr—“ He cuts himself off when they walk inside and see the chaos that’s occurring. 

The workers are clearly flustered and panicking—most of them are in the middle of phone calls, words going fast enough and sentences being cut off often enough that Duo can’t pick out a general theme. The others are trying to calm down the increasingly anxious civilians that must be waiting for their loved ones. A woman is crying, dialing a number repeatedly into her cell phone and crying harder when it doesn’t pick up. 

Police officers are scattered throughout—Also mostly on phone calls. There’s pandemonium everywhere, with the doors to the shuttle launch pads are being covered in yellow "DO NOT CROSS" tape and civilians being ushered outside. 

The televisions have the volume cranked up and are all on the news—which is talking about a shuttle being taken hostage. 

Duo feels his breath leave him in a whoosh. Wufei, a little bit behind him, says, “I’m assuming we’re not lucky enough that your friend isn’t on that shuttle. Correct?” 

It takes less than ten seconds for Duo to whip out his Preventer’s badge (which is basically the equivalent of a federal agent badge, since no one should know about the Preventers, but in situations like this, agents need some kind of valid authority—) and storm forward. 

“Tell me what’s happening,” He nearly snarls, stalking to the closest desk. The woman manning it is obviously stressed, but Duo can’t deal with that when Solo’s in trouble. He shoves his badge into her face and narrows his eyes. “Now.” 

“The shuttle was about to prepare to land when one of the passengers knocked the pilot out,” She says quickly. She’s clearly explained this at least once before. She takes in a shaky breath and says, “He has a weapon. We just succeeded in getting a visual feed into the shuttle, but up until about two minutes ago we only had audio.” 

“Where’s the feed? Take me there.” 

She nods and shuffles out from behind her desk, leading him and Wufei to the back. 

Wufei asks, “Do we know the statuses of the hostages? Has he said anything about them?” 

“He says no one’s dead yet.” 

“What does he want?” They’re rounding a corner while she fumbles with her ID badge, scanning them 

“He hasn’t—“ 

The rest of her sentence is cut off by an extremely loud commotion coming from the room they haven’t entered yet. Duo rushes in, eyes immediately locking on the screens. 

They’re clearly displaying the insides of the shuttle—It’s not completely full, surprisingly. It’s relatively empty. There’s maybe six or seven people altogether, not including the unconscious pilot crumpled on the ground or the man right outside of the cockpit who’s holding a large gun. 

What’s causing the noise are the many employees who are yelling at screen as if they’re at a football game. A single cop is standing in front of the screens and snapping into a microphone, “Stand down, sir, please—“ but no one on the shuttle appears to hear him. Duo double checks that the microphone is working on their end, and it appears to be. The green light on it isn’t flickering, so it’s at least on. 

On screen, five of the civilians are obediently crouched on the ground, with their hands held behind their heads. One is standing and approaching the terrorist. The terrorist, oddly, is standing completely still. 

“—I know it’s hard,” The civilian is saying. “Adjusting after a war, I mean. It takes everything from you, and afterwards—Well, it’s all gone. Friends, family, purpose—Even if the war was awful, it gave you something to do. Right? And I don’t know about you, but I was good at it.” 

“I was really good,” The terrorist rasps. “It was the only thing I was good at. And now it’s just. Done.” 

“I understand,” He says. He’s only a foot away from the gun now, but his hands are in his pockets and his posture’s relaxed. “It’s not fair. The higher-ups tell you when to shoot, when to hold back, when to fight until your knuckles bleed, but they don’t tell you what to do after.” 

“They threw me out like garbage. I gave everything, and they just.” 

The ex-soldier gets a trademarked, patented, kind Solo Smile. “Yeah. It’s not fair. But this shit won’t make it any more fair, you know.” 

Duo thinks he might pass out when the terrorist’s grip loosens, because he knows what Solo will do and there’s no way it’ll work. It never worked when they were little, not even when Solo looked so big to an even younger Duo. 

Sure enough, Solo grabs the gun, pointing it upwards, and knees the man in the crotch. It’s more fluid than the move was when they were kids, and Solo’s much taller, which definitely helps with the kneeing. His new height might be the only thing that has the situation go as smoothly as it does—The terrorist goes down immediately, but his hand doesn’t let go of the gun. Solo yanks it out of his grasp and holds it out behind him—another hostage carefully takes it from him and scuttles back like a crab, back to the group.   
Solo subdues the man easily after that. It seems like after one hit, the man goes slack and unconscious. Without bothering to secure him, like a moron, Solo stands up and turns to the other hostages. A separate screen from the one Duo was watching gives him a good view of Solo’s kind smile. 

“Well, we’re alright then, aren’t we?” He says. “I’m going to try to wake up the pilot and see if he can land us. If not—I don’t suppose any of you know how to fly this thing?” 

“Who’s that kid?” The cop asks. “Pull up the shuttle’s passenger list—Yes, now, thank you. Is anyone able to walk him through landing that thing if the pilot is incapacitated?” 

Wufei steps forward and says, “I can. I’m Agent Chang, I happened to be in the area. This is my partner, Agent Maxwell. We both have piloting experience.” 

Duo nods, but his eyes are still latched onto the screen. Back on the shuttle, Solo is lightly tapping the pilot’s face. When the pilot groans, Solo says, “Sir? Are you okay?” 

The pilot is clearly irritated, by the way he smacks Solo’s hand out of the way. “I got hit with a crowbar, what do you think?” 

“It was a gun, actually—“ At the man’s glower, Solo quickly adds, “but I’m sure it felt just as awful. Do you think you can land the shuttle?” 

“I’ve been flying since before you were in diapers. Of course I can land the damn shuttle. Help me up.” 

“So, who’s the man?” Wufei asks, leaning over the cop’s shoulder. 

“The list says he’s Harry Potter. Not a known soldier, but you two of all people should know how easy it was for children to get involved in the war,” He says. “Going off of their conversation and the list, we know who the target of this attack was too.” 

“Oh?” 

“Another passenger named Charles Schultz—a retired lieutenant. It must’ve been—“ 

Duo tunes out, because he doesn’t really care. The pilot on screen—“Call me Al,”—is already moving the shuttle, initiating landing gears and all of that fun junk. Solo’s disappeared from the cockpit and is checking on the other passengers. He doesn’t do anything with the terrorist—still doesn’t tie him up, or lock him in the bathroom, or anything a rational, combat-experienced individual would do. Solo just steps over him, trusting he’ll stay unconscious long enough. Like a moron. 

It’s enough to make Duo want to rip his hair out. 

The minute the shuttle lands, Duo’s leading the way to the hangar, just shy of sprinting. The shuttle isn’t in great condition when they arrive—It was a shaky landing, thanks to the pilot’s head injury, but the door opens just fine and no one is immediately running out clutching any bleeding limbs. There’s some scrapes on the shuttle itself, and the hangar’s a little busted up. Instead of landing smoothly in the designated section, the shuttle’s zig-zagged path cut a jagged line halfway across the floor, until it came to a stop between three landing pads. 

A man carrying a child exits first, followed by an older guy and two teenagers. The last ones to exit are the pilot and Solo, who’s supporting him. Al’s clearly frazzled and disoriented, but he must be tough stuff to have landed a shuttle with a head injury. 

Police officers swarm the area with emergency services intermixed. Duo says, “Wufei, can you—?” 

“On it.” He’s pushing his way onto the shuttle, securing the hijacker that Solo was too stupid to deal with properly. 

That taken care of, Duo moves onto more important business. 

Solo is handing Al off to a paramedic, smiling politely and saying, “No, I’m fine—Really, thank you.” when Duo reaches him. Solo must see him out of the corner of his eye, because he spins and smiles widely. “Hey—!” 

Duo smacks the back of his head. Hard. “What the hell was all of that?” 

“Ow, what—?” 

“’Hi, I’m Solo, guess I’ll go punch a guy with a gun, normal business, you know—‘ How the fuck did you live this long?” 

“Oi, it worked, didn’t it?” He’s rubbing his head where Duo hit him, wincing. “I don’t know why you’re complaining when you’re the dumb ass that got his face plastered across TV for being a Gundam pilot. You don’t really have a leg to stand on.” 

Duo sputters. A lot. “I was trained for that!” 

He shrugs. “If you say so. Any chance we can get out of here before they decide they need to ask me questions or fill out paperwork or... whatever?” 

“None. This is your punishment for being a dipshit.” Duo’s lips twitch against his will. “You sure know how to make an entrance, Solo.” 

He’s hugging Solo before he can talk himself out of it or make it weird. It’s a greeting, he thinks defensively. They haven’t seen each other in years. A hug is a normal greeting. 

That said: They’re both stiff as boards, and it’s not comfortable. It’s not like the hugs Solo would give him as a kid—those were tender, soft things. This is awkward, but Solo’s wrapping his arms back around Duo and Duo’s squeezing as tightly as he can. 

At the very least, they’re trying. Duo thinks that bodes well for his, “Make sure Solo never ever ever ever ever leaves me again,” plan.


End file.
